


(You’re Something Like) A Phenomena

by rideswraptors



Series: Phenomena [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Also super tropey, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Caution: Smut Ahead, F/M, Issues surrounding cunnilingus, Jon and Sansa are NOT related in any way, No Incest, TW: Mentions of abuse, but it's fluffy too, the tropiest tropes that ever troped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:46:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7751008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rideswraptors/pseuds/rideswraptors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Starks were all mad and intrusive and never let anyone off the hook, and Jon truly thought they were the best part of his life. </p><p>However, that also meant that every single one of them had keys to the cabin and could show up unannounced to ruin his Weekend to Brood Alone. Jon crept into the living room as quietly as possible to gather intel on the intruder. But he only needed the one look to know who was crying on the couch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be short. I didn't mean for this to happen.  
> I was taking a break from "Let Me Steal You" and had this silly idea for a ridiculous break up-meet cute. And since Jon only knows One Thing, Jonsa was an obvious choice.  
> Body hair is an Issue for me, people, so if you have weird comments about it, proceed with caution.  
> Also, if nothing else, read the third chapter. I make myself giggle too much.
> 
> Title from "Phenomena" by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs

The front door slammed shut and there was a graceless _flop_ onto the leather sofa followed up by some loud sniffling. Jon froze mid-drink and deftly set his water glass back on the counter before going to investigate.

 

Since his mom had bailed (again) and Aunt Dany was going through yet another divorce, Jon had decided to take a beat and get out of King’s Landing for a while. That meant crashing at Robb Stark’s lakeside cabin and turning off his cell phone for a few days. Robb almost never used the place anyway, since it was a gift from his wife, Jeyne’s, uncle. The couple was in Madrid? Or was it Nice? Jon couldn’t remember now. But it didn’t matter, ever since they were children he’d had an open invitation into Robb’s home. Uncle Ned, Robb’s father, was Jon’s mother’s foster brother. They’d stayed close after she aged out, so Jon spent a good deal of his weekends and vacations with the Stark children growing up. Which he didn't mind _at all_.

 

The Starks were good people. Uncle Ned taught him everything a dad ought to teach their kid and Aunt Cat was always too hard on him, and it was wonderful. Robb was his best friend, and Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon were the siblings he never had to be without. They were all mad and intrusive and never let anyone off the hook, and Jon truly thought they were the best part of his life.

 

However, that also meant that every single one of them had keys to the cabin and could show up unannounced to ruin his Weekend to Brood Alone.

 

Jon crept into the living room as quietly as possible to gather intel on the intruder. But he only needed the one look to know who was crying on the couch. There was only one girl he knew with that shade of red hair. And there was only one person who made her run away to cry.

 

“All right,” he growled out, “Where is that fucker? I'm gonna kill ‘im this time.”

 

Jon was already halfway to his boots when he heard her panicked yelp and the thunk of her feet hitting the floor. He was halted in his movement to grab a boot and his keys from the table by two slender hands ineffectually yanking him back.

 

“Jon _don’t_!” she begged, pulling on his arm. Jon let himself be moved and turned to face Sansa Stark. She was wearing tight black jeans, strappy sandals kicked off at the door, and a flowy silver blouse that sharpened the iciness of her blue eyes. He felt like a scrub in his beat up Henley and gym shorts.

 

Every time Jon saw Sansa, she was prettier than the time before. She kept her long, red hair in a braid, her makeup always perfect and on trend. He’d never met another girl more persnickety about her nails. And her clothing was always a blend of preppy and high fashion. His ex-girlfriend, Ygritte had constantly sworn up and down that Sansa Stark was a manipulative bitch, but Jon had never really seen it. She had always been very social and popular, and yes, most of her friends were well off and posh, but he also knew that she always went to Rickon’s track meets and read every book Bran loved and recommended.  She groomed her family’s dogs herself, never minding how wet and dirty she got from it, just to save her mother the extra money and time. She kept Robb in his place and his head out of the clouds. And even though she and Arya never got on very well, Jon had overheard her ripping into Loras Tyrell for mocking Arya’s tom boyishness once. Moreover, she had always been nice to Jon, if a little distant. Even when she was mean or prissy with everyone else, Sansa was always nice to him. Ygritte insisted he only said those things because of Sansa’s pretty blue eyes and perfect tits.

 

Not that he could deny Sansa was gorgeous, but that wasn’t the reason he and Ygritte had broken up. Ygritte was possessive and a little too much and she didn’t understand that the Starks were very much his family, as much as his mother was. She didn’t understand it and he’d started hating the person he was around her, so she had to go. Amazing, wonderful girl, but she hated him too much to stay in touch. It made him sadder than he liked.

 

But right now, right in that moment, Sansa’s face was streaked with tears and black smears from her makeup. Her nose was bright red, her chin wobbled, and her forehead was puckered unattractively, and Jon Snow felt like someone had ripped his beating heart from his chest.

 

She exhaled huffily, “Nothing _happened_ , okay? He didn’t do anything.” She released his arm when he deflated to wrap her arms around her middle. “That was part of the problem,” she mumbled, going back to the couch.

 

“ _What_?” Jon snapped, following her. She didn’t answer right away, just reached for a tissue to wipe her nose. Then she unbound her thick braid and ran a frustrated hand through the tresses.

 

“We—I just wanted—” She groaned. “It doesn't matter, I broke up with him. I was just crying because he was being awful.”

 

If she hadn’t looked so completely miserable, Jon would have leapt from the couch with his fists raised high and howled his victory.

 

Sansa had started dating Joffrey Baratheon her freshman year of college. She was silly in love and they were all very happy for her, if annoyed by most of it. And for a while, everything was great. Then she was calling less and less. And when she broke her arm sophomore year, she swore it was just a crazy accident. Then she was late for Christmas her junior year and Arya found pamphlets for an abortion clinic in her purse. It all came to a head the year after that when she came home, degree unfinished, with a black eye and bruised ribs. Sansa wouldn't press charges so there was nothing they could do, but that hadn’t stopped Jon, Robb, and their friend Theon from beating the ever-living shit out of the cunt. And when Sansa was finally rid of the bastard Arya celebrated by egging his car and wrapping it in saran wrap. Her buddy, Hotpie, got his reaction on video, which they watched on special occasions.

 

The Starks were hoping Sansa was done with scumbag boyfriends. She went back to school, got a great job as a pediatric physical therapist at the local hospital. She was doing well and seeing friends again, right up until she met Harry Hardyng who was handsome and charming and just as bad as Joffrey. It wasn’t physical abuse, it was mental and emotional. He was always blaming her, guilt tripping her, keeping her away from her family. They knew for a fact he cheated constantly; Sansa’s best friends Margaery and Myranda had seen him with half a dozen other women at least. Sansa didn't listen to any of it, and finally Uncle Ned put his foot down and told the lot of them to back off. _She can’t make a good decision if you force her to it. She’ll never trust herself again. Just be patient._

 

And all of that patience had finally fucking paid off. He tried to school his expression into something somber. Instead of pumping his fists in the air, he handed her the handkerchief his mother had always insisted he carry around.  

 

Sansa accepted it, but scowled, “God, just break out the mariachi band already.” She flopped back against the couch. Obviously his efforts were in vain.

 

“I won’t lie and say I'm devastated, but I'm not happy that you’re sad.” He paused. “I _will_ say that he’s a fucking prick and doesn't deserve even one tear from you.”

 

“Why are you so nice to me?”

 

“Say what now?”

 

“I used to run around telling everyone that you weren’t our cousin. I was kind of awful.”

 

“Well I'm _not_ your cousin. The way I figure it, you guys chose me as family. So I prefer it that way. And yeah, you were occasionally awful.”

 

“Forgive me?”

 

“Sansa, there’s nothing to forgive—”

 

“Forgive me.”

 

“Fine, you’re forgiven.”

 

“ _Thank you_ ,” she responded with exaggerated primness. It was enough to make him chuckle. He glanced at the clock, noting the time, and snatched up his phone from coffee table. When he turned it on, it must have buzzed a dozen or so times, but he tapped only on the top message.

 

“People hunting you down?”

 

He snorted. “Yeah. Sam’s got Ghost this weekend, so I promised to check in.”

 

“And the epic romance continues.”

 

He swatted blindly at her, tapping out a message, “Get fucked, Stark, he’s my soul mate.” He sent the message and then turned it back off, tossing the damnable thing across the room. Aunt Dany procured for him a top of the line phone case that was damn near indestructible. Robb drove his truck over it once just to see. Nary a scratch. He flopped back.

 

“Besides, he and Gilly are engaged now. I’ve been banished until he takes care of wedding business. Apparently I'm _distracting_ —” But he broke off at the sight of Sansa’s completely distraught face. “Whoa, Sans, no it’s fine. She’s just kidding—mostly—” Sam and Gilly had dated since high school, and probably had the most stable relationship Jon had ever seen between two people. They’d talked about marriage and kids and the whole shebang, but insisted they had plenty of time. Right up until three months ago when Gilly got a little blue plus sign. Sam had wanted to propose on the spot, but Theon talked him into waiting for a good moment.

 

“They’re _engaged_?”

 

“Yeah? Like a month ago? Didn't Margaery—?”

 

“She’s not speaking to me. Harry—” He waved her off. Honestly, the idea that Harry had almost ruined a decades’ long friendship was enough to set his teeth on edge. He didn’t want to hear that part. But if that hadn’t been enough… “Anyway. I didn’t realize anyone was going to be here. Robb didn’t mention it on the phone…”

 

He shrugged. “Last minute thing. Mom’s in Reno and Aunt Dany’s divorce is about to hit the news cycle again. Thought I’d beat her to the punch and voluntarily lay low this time.”

 

“Oh _Jon_ —”

 

“No, no, don't take that tone with me. She doesn't need every vulture running a story about my dad and his scandalous misdeeds while she’s trying to get a fresh start.”

 

“You are not an embarrassment, Jon. She loves you.”

 

“I know that. But I like making it easier on her. She uh—stuff about my dad always upsets her.”

 

“You’re a good guy.”

 

He cleared his throat, wanting desperately to get off this train of conversation. “So if it wasn’t about Marg, why _did_ you break up with him?”

 

She leaned over her knees, face buried in her hands.

 

“It’s embarrassing.”

 

“Won’t tell a soul. Scout’s honor.”

 

She scowled, “You, Robb, and Theon got kicked out of boy scouts.”

 

“Yes, but _Sam_ didn’t and he taught me everything he knows.”

 

She laughed. “Oh fine. But it’s really stupid and you have to promise not to laugh.” He nodded, making her arch a brow and shake her head. But she still hesitated. “I don't even know _why_ I got so upset. I mean, I missed dad’s birthday because he wanted to go to Miami. And _Rickon_. He had his regional qualifying race two weeks ago—”

 

“Placed third,” Jon said with a wince. She groaned.

 

“I never miss his races. But Harry dragged me to a football game with his frat brothers and ignored me the whole time. And he _promised_ we could leave early but then he got drunk…”

 

“You hate football,” Jon muttered. She gestured avidly in his direction.

 

“Right?! That’s what I told him! But then he just pushed and pushed and kept saying I didn’t care about him or his friends and I just—” she shrugged helplessly. “He promised we would make it to the meet. I still can’t believe I missed it.”

 

“Rickon understands you know.”

 

“He shouldn't have to!” Sansa insisted. Then she sighed. “But you know, even after that it really didn’t set in that I needed to end it. Stuff happens, right?”

 

“So what happened tonight?” If Harry hit her, no force on earth would stop Jon from strangling him. He’d met Harry only the once, and the guy was a gym rat and a decent athlete, but even Robb agreed he was no match for Jon in a fight. But that was how Robb thought about things; who could take who in a fight? He and Robb had been getting into fights together since they were kids. Mostly defending Sam and Theon, but still legitimate fights. Actually, that was why they got kicked out of their Boy Scout troop in fourth grade.

 

She ran frustrated hands through her hair, shaking it out and blushing furiously.

 

“God I can’t believe I'm about to say this to you of all people. Ummm—” she shook her hands out nervously. “Okay. Okay. So I went over to his place and we were gonna...you know.” He nodded slowly. “And so I asked him if he could,” she gestured spastically, grimacing, “ _You know?_ ” She looked at him hopefully, obviously not wanting to explain more than that. She didn’t have to.

 

“Okaaay…”

 

She exhaled slowly, “But.” She broke off, twisting her mouth uncomfortably. “He got pissed because I didn’t shave.”

 

Jon froze, not quite believing what he was hearing. He tilted his head, hoping his brain or blood would slide around and give him some basic comprehension. He took a beat, thought hard. Nope. Nothing.

 

“Okay. No. Nope. What are you saying to me right now?” He pushed through before she could answer. “That asshole, one of the hairiest dudes I’ve ever seen in my life, refused to go down on you because you didn’t shave?”

 

“Been a couple of weeks, yeah.”

 

“You are _shitting_ me.”

 

She dropped her head back on her hands miserably, whining pathetically. “It’s so _embarrassing_ right? I just didn’t think about it, totally forgot, and he pitched such a fit. God, the neighbors heard us fighting. I lost it at him.”

 

“ _Good_.”

 

She rounded on him, eyes bugged out, “What? Why is that good? It was my fault!”

 

Jon scoffed derisively, shaking his head and clenching his jaw to keep from shouting. He brought a fist to his mouth to steady himself and then turned to her.

 

“Any man who isn’t chomping at the bit to do that for you, is an absolute piece of shit. And he’s a _dick_ for making you feel like crap about having hair where you’re _supposed to have hair_. Do you understand what I'm saying? Do not let people tell you not to be upset about it.”

 

“But he’s told me before—”

 

He waved her off. “ _No_. It’s a preference. And I’ll bet my ass he wasn’t nice about it either.”

 

“No,” she mumbled, sitting back. “He wasn’t.” She sighed again, “He’s said no before, but he’s always had a good reason.”

 

“I really fucking doubt it.”

 

“You don't know that.”

 

He snorted. “I know enough guys like him. _I'm tired. I never liked doing it. I had a bad experience._ Girls do it, too, but not nearly as much.”

 

She pursed her lips, “You shouldn’t have to do things in bed that you don't want to.”

 

He pointed at her, “While true, eighty percent of the time, the guy is just a selfish asshole. Like, what happens if your girl can’t get off from penetration? She just never gets to orgasm because you had one less than pleasurable experience? Selfish. I’d dump his ass.”

 

“First? Never say _penetration_ ever again. Second, you make a valid point. But people have the right to feel safe in sexual situations.”

 

“So ease into it!” he argued, tossing his hands up. “Baby steps! Don't write it off completely just cause it didn’t work out the first time. Sometimes, it just takes the right partner.”

 

She narrowed her eyes, looking more relaxed than she had the whole time even though she was very obviously embarrassed by the topic.

 

“I would say you’re just trying to make me feel better, but I think you’re more upset about than I am.”

 

He crossed his arms defensively, “Damn right I am. Gives the rest of us a bad rep and we gotta work twice as hard to undo the damage. Not _every guy_ has to like it, but it’s a moral imperative that you reciprocate at least as often as she does. _At least_.” He huffed. “The son of a bitch,” he grumbled under his breath.

 

“So you went down on Ygritte all the time?”

 

He scowled through a deep, burning blush. “No. But at least once every time.” He bobbled his head, “With a couple exceptions,” When that was _all_ he did, “But yes, every time.”

 

“That’s—”

 

“Basic, actually. Common sense if you—never mind, but you get my point.”

 

“Not really.”

 

He sighed, looking away from her, “It was necessary, let’s leave it at that.” Good god he needed a drink. He cut his gaze over to see her watching him, her brain whirring as she pieced together his implications.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Not every guy—”

 

“I get it.”

 

“You just learn to make it easier—”

 

“Damn it, I said I got it!” she snapped angrily. That caught the whole of his attention, stunning him into silence. Sansa so rarely lost her temper that it confused the hell out of people when she did. They didn’t recognize the signs. Jon did. Jon had lived around her and her siblings all of their lives. He’d seen Sansa take a swing at Robb and slap Arya right across the face.

 

“Sansa—”

 

“I know, okay, stupid, _idiot_ Sansa who chooses assholes. Stupid Sansa who deserves what she gets because, obviously, there has to be something wrong with me right?” She was up out of her seat, spitting viciously and gesticulating broadly. Clearly he’d touched a nerve, not that he understood which one or why. But he did know he could counter it. And truthfully, too.

 

“You are _not_ stupid! You are one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met in my life...barring Dany, but we’re all just overdressed monkeys compared to her.” That actually drew a reluctant smile from her. But she shook her head and blew a sigh through her nose. You’ve got a good heart, Sans, and you always believe the best in people.”

 

“Meaning I’m naïve and gullible. Great—”

 

“Shut up, you talked already, it’s my turn.” She pulled a face, but kept quiet, kept pacing. “You’re so much stronger than you realize. I mean, you got away from Joffrey, you just handled Harry, you’ve been through so much and you still keep fighting. Do you even understand how hard that is for most people?” Look at his mom. Look at Dany. “You remember when you were learning to ride a bike? Theon dared you to go down that hill and you took it... _way_ too fast.”

 

She snorted, “I fractured my foot and dislocated my shoulder.”

 

He chuckled too, “Yeah and you weren’t two hours out of that sling before you were taking that hill too fast and dislocating your shoulder again.”

 

“Most people would call that stupid.”

 

“Or determined. Your mom was so mad, but your dad just laughed and popped your shoulder back in. Made you wear that sling for weeks.”

 

“Theon made fun of me for years.”

 

“Yeah, and Arya kicked him in the balls for it.”

 

“I didn’t know that.”

 

He nodded. “Yep…You never hear her say it?”

 

“Say what?” she asked, sitting back down. He laughed.

 

“Whenever she’s trying to psych herself up, for like something stupid or dangerous or stubborn she says _Time to take the hill again_.”

 

“So?” Meaning that yes, she’d heard Arya say it. Jon shook his head. The pair of them could send someone to the looney bin.

 

“When she was littler, she would say _Be like Sansa on the hill_.”

 

“She did not!”

 

“Hand to God. Bran started teasing her about it, so she changed the wording, but I know she says it before every rugby match. Whenever she’s running for a goal, they chant ‘take the hill.’ Why do you think her teammates call her _Arya the Hill_?”

 

“Stupid name.”

 

“They were high schoolers. It stuck...” She looked away from him, brow still furrowed and frowning. He didn’t have to tell her the Stark boys worshipped the ground she walked on. Robb would have bent over backwards to make Sansa smile. Bran thought she was a saint and she was a second mother to Rickon. Sansa was the only one who didn’t see it. Jon swallowed thickly, angling himself toward her, hands out pleading.

 

“God, I’ve never met anyone like you.” It was his turn to get up, and his accidentally started pacing as he ranted. “You’re so damn nice to everyone and you’re genuinely optimistic and you actually _try_. I don’t know _anyone_ who tries so hard at everything. People just don’t do that anymore. But you—?” He whirled around to look at her, willing her to understand what he was seeing. “You deserve one of those ridiculous guys in rom coms with perfect hair who say the right things and remember anniversaries and to buy flowers and your favorite dessert and all that shit. And even then that perfect guy wouldn’t come close to deserving you. Nobody does, least of all Harry fucking Hardyng.”

 

“You don't have to say all that…”

 

“No, I don't, but I mean it.” She looked skeptical. “When’s the last time you heard me say something I didn't mean?” 

 

She pulled in her bottom lip and answered in a near whisper, “Never.”

 

He gestured uselessly, “There you go.” Sansa watched him for a long moment, her face blotchy and completely closed off to him. He couldn’t get a read on what she was thinking. Maybe he’d gone too far, maybe he’d shown her too much. He’d long since resigned himself to never getting a girl like Sansa Stark. How pathetic had he come across? How stupid did he sound saying every thought in his head? Outbursts just weren’t his style. He preferred to take his frustrations out in the pool, swimming laps until he couldn’t see straight. Maybe he should apologize?

 

Jon didn’t have terribly long to dwell, however, because while he was existentially brooding, Sansa got to her feet and was on him without hesitation. The warm press of her lips was like a cold shock to his system, short circuiting his brain to the point that he froze. She must have noticed, of course she noticed, because she started to pull back, to shy away. And that was when a wave of heat washed over him, telling him to make a move or die.

 

Frantically, Jon wrapped his arms around her lower back and hauled her completely up against him. He slanted his mouth against hers, working her lips apart and licking into her hungrily. She moaned into his mouth, arms twining around his neck, and his dick twitched at her enthusiastic proximity. Fuck, she was sweet and perfect, all warmth and angles that fit just right against his. He was overwhelmed by the thick scent of roses and black pepper, the one that Robb said smelled like old lady. Fuck. _Robb_.

 

With a frustrated gasp, he ripped his mouth away from hers, pushing her back from him. Just far enough away for air to pass between them and wrenched her hands from neck. There was a flash of a second for him to be smug about how wrecked she looked already before it was replaced by very real panic.

 

“What—?”


	2. Chapter 2

“What—?”

 

“We can’t do _this_ ,” Jon answered, panting hard. “Robb and you—” He cleared his throat and took a firm step back. “You broke up with Harry. This is just you feeling vulnerable.” Sansa didn’t let him keep his space. She followed, determination gleaming in her eyes, and Jon knew the glint of Stark stubbornness better than anybody else in the world.

 

“I am not _just_ anything. Don't tell me how I feel, Jon Snow.” He held his hands up in defeat, but that only gave her room to step closer, to slide her hands up his chest.

 

“I'm not taking advantage of you.”

 

She cocked a brow, “No. You’re not. I came here. I stayed. I kissed you. I'm hearing a whole lot of decision making on my part.” He still resisted.

 

“You said you came here to be alone. Which you should be. To process.”

 

“I lied.”

 

“Sansa—”

 

“I did. Robb told me you were here. I came anyway.” He could only shake his head. “I didn’t want to be alone. I’m _sick_ of being alone.”

 

He narrowed his eyes at her, “You don't know what you’re saying. You’re not thinking straight.” Her hands smoothed over his shoulders to rest on his neck and she pressed her breasts against his chest, biting the swell of her bottom lip. _Damn it._

 

“I think this is the most sense I’ve made in years,” she told him huskily, staring at his lips now. She flicked her gaze up to his, blue glittering under the black of her lashes. Jon’s pants tightened.

 

He ripped himself away. Put more distance between them, near the full length of the room, and gulped down unheated air.

 

“I am not gonna be your revenge fuck you regret in the morning, all right?” He growled out, whipping around to face her accusingly. He couldn’t even believe she was asking. Did he really come off as that kind of guy? It took him years not to feel guilty for just kissing Ygritte when she was drunk. Why the hell would she—?

 

Sansa looked absolutely dumbstruck, like she’d been slapped or worse. He’d hoped to get a reaction, get her angry or embarrassed enough to call it a night. But he hadn’t expected her to stare at him like he’d murdered Lady with his bare hands.

 

“Do you really think that’s what this is?” she whispered, hands clenched at her sides. Jon felt his heart crush in on itself.

 

“Sansa, I don't _know_ what this is.”

 

She inhaled deeply, a tear slipping down her cheek. “When’s the last time you saw me in a bathing suit?”

 

“I'm sorry, _what_?”

 

“The last time you saw me in a bathing suit, I was what? Sixteen, eighteen?”

 

He bobbled his head in frustration. “Yeah, maybe. So what?” The steel resettled itself on her features. And with a growing sense of horror and excitement, Jon watched her fingers clasp the hem of her blouse before she fluidly lifted it up and over her head, tossing it away from her. Jon was stunned into silence and so uttered no protest, though he was sure his facial muscles were strained from shock. Fuel to the flames, she turned, showing him her back, to reveal a tattoo of thick black lines.

 

“Sansa, what the hell?” he croaked out, taking a step forward, mesmerized.

 

She turned her face so that her chin nearly rested on her shoulder. “This is why he hit me, you know. He was furious that I _defiled_ what was his without his permission.” Jon was close enough again that he could reach out and touch her, and he lifted his hand, wanting to trace the lines, but resisted.

 

“At first, I just wanted a wolf. Just to remember who I was. And then I wanted it as a reminder that I wasn’t alone. That I had protector. But I didn’t think a wolf was enough…”

 

Her tattoo had a wolf’s body. A wolf’s head and limbs, but its talons were long and thick, scales covered its belly and along its spine. Horns protruded from next to its ears. A serpent’s tongue spat out between its fangs. And on its back were two enormous wings. A dragon. It was the kind of thing a strung out teenager might get on his thigh or bicep, making it look grotesque. But Sansa’s design was elegant; the wolf even sort of looked like Ghost.

 

“Dany told me once that your family crest was of a dragon with three heads. That they used to call your father the Young Dragon.”

 

“She shouldn’t have told you that,” he near whispered, the pads of his fingers so close to her skin that he could feel her heat. His father had been a bastard. A family, a mistress, a string of dirty businesses, all while his sister was trying to make a name for herself in the political sphere by cleaning up the streets and cracking down on corporate corruption. One word from a drug lord he’d double crossed changed all of that. Elia and the kids died in the fire, and Jon’s father drove himself off a highway into a retaining wall.

 

She laughed softly, “I needed something more monstrous than a wolf. More monstrous than Joffrey. I needed a protector with the heart of a wolf and the blood of a dragon.” Jon let out a shaky breath and finally let himself drag his fingers along the lines of the wings. “Joff was raised learning old family trees and crests. He knew right away.”

 

“And he hit you.”

 

“He was pissed. I used you to cover up the scars he left on me.” He flattened his hand on her back, wishing he could see them, kiss them, heal them somehow. But she turned back around, eyes searching for his and the swell of her breasts prominent in his line of sight.

 

“I can’t remember the last time I was selfish,” she murmured lowly, taking his errant hands in hers, teasingly threading their fingers together before guiding his hands to her waist. She danced her hands up his forearms, her gaze firmly trained on his. “Just took something I wanted just because I wanted it. Can you?” Jon was going to open his mouth to argue, but his throat was too dry, and the sinuous bow of her torso felt too good under his grasp.

 

“ _No_ ,” Jon breathed out harshly. Sansa let out a small squeak when he jerked her against him. To get a hold on himself, Jon bent his head to nose at her jawline, inhaling deeply.

 

“Everyone keeps telling me to find a good man,” she purred. He rumbled when she swung her hips, swaying against him, “Someone kind. Someone who won’t hurt me.” Jon knew he was getting sucked in, felt every argument and complaint fading to a distant, vague hum in the background. Her fingers clenched into his shirt at his biceps, he felt her right knee rubbing up against his outer leg. She kept moving in closer, so close he couldn’t breathe. “You wouldn’t hurt me, would you, Jon?” He shook his head, dipping down to press kisses to the curve of her shoulder. “Because I wouldn’t hurt you.”

 

“This is a truly _terrible_ idea,” he grumbled, nosing up at her neck and squeezing her against him. Sansa laughed airily through her nose and slid her hands up to his neck and jaw, turning his head up to look at her. He felt like a rabbit ensnared in a trap, frozen with his heart pounding too fast for the rest of him to keep up. He was close enough to feel her heart thudding in time with his, which was stupidly reassuring. At the very least, she wasn’t wholly unaffected. Sansa pressed a barely-there, butterfly kiss to his lips, so light and fleeting that she almost didn’t touch him at all. But Jon felt her heat, and in frustration, he followed her quick retreat. He nearly growled at the sound of her buoyant giggle, eyes snapping open to glare. But he was caught off guard by her flushed cheeks, by her pupils blown wide, by her hips rolling against his. She was playing with him and _enjoying_ it. She was getting excited just by the prospect of being able to move him as she liked, being able to control him.

 

It was giving Jon _ideas_.

 

He forced himself to settle, to restrain that inane, knee jerk itch to retaliate, to throw her on the couch and prove just how little Harry Hardyng knew about pleasing women. Jon was _good_ , he was very, very good, and he knew as much because Ygritte never would have tolerated anything less. But, he reminded himself several times in the span of those few seconds, this was not about Jon proving himself. So if this was what Sansa wanted, then she was making the calls. He was submitting, caving, folding, whatever you wanted to call it, he was doing it.

 

Instead, he left his hands firmly where she’d placed them on her waist, and he tilted his head to bare his neck to her. He silently cursed every hormone in his body and thought vividly about the one time he’d accidentally seen Old Nan naked when the gleam of understanding passed over Sansa’s expression. She looked predatory and excited and so fucking _hot_ , Jon was actually worried about this being over before they got started.

 

Again, he wasn’t given much time to process anything before Sansa was dragging him over to the couch and throwing _him_ down. She straddled his lap and jerked his head to the side so she could latch her lips onto his neck. As she licked and bit at his sensitive spots, Jon’s hands clamped on her hips, guiding her movement on his thigh, restraining himself from bucking up. She moved easily along the slick fabric of his shorts, fabric that was far too flimsy to hide his erection. He didn’t protest when she worked his shirt off of him and scratched her fingernails through his chest hair. It wasn’t particularly thick or plentiful, but Sansa kept rubbing up against him like a cat, humming happily against his skin which sent vibrations right down to his dick.

 

Regardless, he kept his hands right where she’d put them, no higher, no lower. No matter how much he was burning to map out her favorite places to be stroked and kissed. No matter how good and strong and warm she felt underneath his hands. It was a game now: How long could Jon Snow hold out against Sansa Stark until he combusted on the spot? He already felt like his blood was boiling and his skin was on fire, so not very long probably.

 

Sansa broke away suddenly, sitting back and nearly giving him whiplash. She had the strangest look on her face which he couldn’t interpret, something between confusion and curiosity maybe.

 

“What’s wrong?” he panted out, thumbs rubbing at the nubs of her hip bones. _Iliac something_ , Aunt Dany would scold and correct him with an eye roll. Sansa probably knew that term, too. Jon took it as a sign of his good taste that all the women in his life were smarter than him.

 

“If I—if I wanted to stop right now and leave…you would let me, wouldn’t you?” she asked. It almost wasn’t even a question, just a statement with a strange inflection to confirm what she already knew. He nodded.

 

“Course.” Would he be disappointed? Definitely. Confused? More so than he’d ever been in his life, but mostly because his disappointment would contrast so strongly with his previous adamant protests.

 

“You’d never even bring it up or hold it against me,” she continued, the same strangeness etched on her features. Jon couldn’t resist, he reached a hand up to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, fingers grazing along her jaw and chin. He furrowed his brow and tried to catch up to her train of thought.

 

“What would I hold against you?” he asked, sincerely confused. Her walking out? Well, that was almost expected at some point. She just got out of a relationship; she was running on spiraling emotions and impulse decisions. If she decided she didn’t want this, or that she only wanted the one night, it’s not like he could blame her for it. Would definitely wound his ego and it would be awkward as hell, but not enough for him to deliberately make her uncomfortable. _Wait_ , did people do that? His racing thoughts barreled to a halt when her lips came crashing down on his again.

 

This time she was forceful and insistent, centering herself on his lap and moving against him with purpose. She kissed him eagerly, slipping her tongue into his mouth and taking the control he so cheerfully offered up. Her hands were in his hair, tugging his curls as she nipped and sucked at his lips. With Ygritte, he’d spent a lot of his time comparing what they were doing to what they’d done before; he’d spent a lot of time worrying that she was doing the same. Sansa didn’t allow him a breath let alone a span of a second to concentrate on anything other than her. He was suffocating in how perfectly she fit against him, how good it felt holding her, how _much_ he wanted to hold her. So he kissed and he kissed and he kissed, responding ardently to every move she made, answering her enthusiastic gasps and whimpers with his own. He could get high off those noises she made. He’d never sleep peacefully again now that he’d heard them properly. His stomach swooped way down when she broke away to moan into his neck, rolling her hips down to meet the upward movement of his. She ground herself down on him, sharply swiveling her hips until she threw her head back, gasping and shaking in his arms. Jon kept his hands firmly on her, continuing to rock up as she came back down.

 

Then she was jerking his head back to hers, kissing him thoroughly even as she eased off his lap onto the couch. She led him to lie on top of her. Jon was so focused on kissing her, on exploring every inch of her mouth with his tongue, that he lost all sense of self and purpose. She undulated up against him with intent, raising her leg up and to the side to glide her foot down the back of his thigh and calf.

 

“Jon,” she breathed into his mouth, “Pants.” With a growl, he sat back on his haunches to help her unbutton and shimmy out of her pants while she snapped off her bra. Jon had to step off the couch to get out of his shorts and boxers, but when he turned to lie down next to her, he was momentarily stunned. Sansa looked pretty and ethereal against the dark leather of the couch, her pale skin rosy from exertion, her hair now unbound from its braid and fanned over her shoulders. She looked up at him, pupils wide and glossy with her lips parted beautifully, and her chest bellowing from trying to breathe normally. Fuck, he really had to be dreaming. And he could only think of one way to prove that he wasn’t, that he hadn’t fallen asleep on the couch again watching _Cheers_ reruns after a few too many beers.

 

“Jon?” she echoed, a line forming between her brows in concern. He shook off the strangeness and held out a hand to her.

 

“Not here,” he muttered, “C’mere.” She took his hand and he pulled her up roughly to him, taking a long moment to kiss her soundly and revel in the expanse of warm skin on skin. Then he was leading her to the back of the cabin, down the hall to the guest bedroom he always claimed whenever he stayed over. It was cool and dark, and the bed was a king that made absolutely no sense for a guest room, but he appreciated the extra space all the same. Sansa pulled ahead of him to clamber onto the bed, sitting up on her knees and reaching for him again. He invaded her space, meeting her embrace with equal fervor. He broke their kiss only to dip to get an arm under her knees so he could lay her back on the bed. She wrapped her arms around his neck, moving easily with him, kissing any stretch of skin she could reach. When she locked her legs around his hips, he bolted back, nearly smacking his forehead like a cartoon character for being so stupid. Sansa whined at the loss of contact, grabbing at his hands to pull him back, and looking irritated.

 

“Condom,” he reminded her. He only had to roll over and lean for the nightstand. He snagged a packet from the drawer and clambered, completely undignified, back to Sansa, who was looking perplexed. Jon only shrugged.

 

“Jeyne,” he explained shortly. Jeyne kept his room stocked, always hopeful that he’d bring a girl there. The woman was insane and intrusive and he was going to send her six dozen roses for being absolutely amazing. He put the packet where he could easily reach it and dove down to kiss and bite her neck and collarbone. A lot of guys went right for the boobs; Jon unwillingly knew this having been subjected to Theon’s loud and detailed conversations with Jeyne and her friends over the course of the wedding festivities. But Jon liked to tease; Ygritte got flustered and aggressive when he took too long, but his other few partners had appreciated the attentiveness. Sansa was falling somewhere in between. When he kissed a path down her sternum to nip and lap at her belly, along her ribs, she writhed under him and grumbled her frustration. But she didn’t bark at him to hurry up or make excessive noise to spur him on. He liked encouragement as much as the next guy, but exaggeration had always weirded him out. He could never figure out who was supposed to benefit from it.

 

“Shit,” he said against her skin, “You are so fucking beautiful. I could get off just touching you.” She gasped, her fingers scratching his scalp, when he licked a thick stripe along the sensitive flesh under her breast. He bit there gently and treated the other to the same. “Do you think you could, beautiful? Think you could make me come just by letting me touch you?”

 

She bucked against him, “Damn it, Jon, if you don’t shut up and _touch_ me, I swear—” she broke off with a breathy scream when he took one breast into his mouth and danced his hand down to slide against her clit. _“Fuck_ ,” she squealed, arching her back off the bed.

 

“You’re so _wet_ , Sansa,” he rolled her nipple between his teeth, making her cry out and then moved to the other side. “I’ll bet you taste so fucking sweet, don’t you, beautiful?” He worked her clit with his thumb and curled two fingers inside her, mouthing and sucking at her nipples in opposite time.

 

“Jon, I’m— _I’m_ —!” Just when she was about to let go, Jon pulled his hand away. She screeched in protest, her legs shooting up to bring him back to her. Jon managed to resist, licking her slickness from his fingers before reaching up to kiss her open mouthed and messily.

 

“Definitely sweet,” he said with a smirk, biting at her lower lip before moving back to kneel between her legs. He hoisted her legs onto his shoulders and resisted teasing her, diving down to eat her out with renewed gusto. Fuck, he really loved doing it, too. He loved the appreciation and the validation, loved the sounds she made, the way she moved against him, desperate and all-consumed by what he was doing to her. He hadn’t done this in _so long_. He’d actually missed it. He’d missed having a hand tug at his hair, missed the taste and smell of woman up close. He’d missed the _screaming_. And oh, did Sansa scream for him. He flicked his eyes up to watch her thrash her arms, face screwed up and tight as she fought for her release. She wasn’t even capable of getting his name out, just hapless cries and squeals as he vigorously tongued under the hood of her clit and then lowered his mouth to stab into her, the tip of his tongue flipping up with each drag. When it got to be too much, she would try to wriggle up and away from him, but he dragged her back by the hips, pulling her flush against his mouth.

 

She came hunched forward, hands in his hair, knees pulled to her chest, and screaming his name.

 

“So good,” he muttered between languid licks to her clit, stroking her even through the aftershocks. “So good, so beautiful, sweetheart. _Easy_ , baby, easy.” He hauled himself to lie next to her, spouting nonsense as she draped herself over him, kissing him frantically anywhere she could manage.

 

“In me, in me, in me,” she chanted at him between kisses. Jon shot a hand out looking for the packet, and nearly cheered when it crinkled under his fingers. While Sansa peppered his face and neck and chest with kisses, squirming on top of him, he tore it open with his teeth and got a firm grip on it. He tossed the packaging, wrapped his arms around her back, and flipped them smoothly. He kissed her roughly, drinking down her gasp, and then sat back to roll the condom on while she reached for him with hands and feet and limbs, begging him to hurry up. With a smile, he pushed her legs gradually back to her chest, offering his mouth to gentle her, pressing back tenderly. Just as he tangled his tongue with hers, he thrust completely into her and eagerly muffled her cries.

 

“Oh my god, oh my god, _yes_ —”

 

Seated in her fully, Jon ground against her center for a moment before hitching his hips back to thrust back in. He kept a steady pace, bending down to kiss her sloppily, to bite at her breasts and neck. Sansa kept her hands on her legs, giving him room to work, tossing her head back against the mattress and wailing. Jon talked her through it, telling how hot and tight and wet she was, telling her she was perfect and beautiful and felt so fucking good. He grunted out filthy things about her cunt, telling her it was so sweet and responsive, could probably have her coming over and over again with just his mouth. She was so wet, so slick, and the squelch of her cunt as his balls slapped against her ass made him irrationally excited.

 

“So good,” he grunted, “So good, beautiful. Come on, beautiful, come for me.”

 

She gasped desperately, “Harder!” she begged him, “Jon, _harder_!” Jon redoubled his efforts, fucking into her with more force, sweat beading on his brow. “Yes, yes, _oooh_ god, Joooooonn—!” He thrusts grew erratic, faster, driving him to his own end. He couldn’t even help it now that his instincts took over. And then Sansa’s walls fluttered around him and clenched down _hard_. Jon came with a shout, grunting gutturally as he spilled into the condom.

 

He felt bad about the grunting, he thought with no small amount of irritation, and threw himself off of her. Ygritte always said he sounded like a dog rutting his favorite toy. A disturbing image, so he’d done his best to suppress it with her. But he hadn’t been with a woman in such a long time, and with Sansa it was like—God, it was like a fucking bomb going off in the middle of a tornado. _Shit_. He threw an arm over his face, breathing hard and trying to get his heart to stop pounding. Next to him, Sansa was just as winded, cussing occasionally herself.

 

Jon couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face when she burst into uncontrollable giggles. He rolled to his side to look at her; she was still breathless and snorting, her hands covering her face as her whole body shook. She stretched her legs out and rolled to face him, too, peeking through her fingers.

 

“Jon, _what the fuck_?” He watched her incredulously as she erupted into a fresh round of giggles, totally bemused by this reaction.

 

“The sex or—?” he asked her, uncertain but infected by her obvious giddiness. She swatted his chest.

 

“Of course the sex, you idiot. Jesus Christ, I can’t remember the last time—and I’ve never…not more than once.”

 

He grunted from the back of his throat, “Don’t ruin the mood by saying shit that’s gonna piss me off.”

 

“Sorry, I didn’t—”

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, beautiful,” he said throwing an arm around her middle and hauling her over to him, “Bad joke, _I’m_ sorry. You don’t get to apologize.”

 

“I really think—” Jon cut her off with a quick kiss. So she pressed her lips into a tight line, twisting them up to the side. “You gonna do that whenever I say something you don’t like?”

 

He shrugged shortly, “Probably.”

 

“Fine,” she rolled to her back, “I’m doing the same to you.” Jon smirked, absurdly pleased with himself. “But honestly, that was—” Absently, he took of the condom, tossing it in the waste basket near the nightstand, and flopped onto his back. “It was…” she blew out a long breath.

 

“Fucking fire, that’s what it was,” Jon mumbled.

 

“I didn’t know it could be like this,” she confessed quietly, “This _good_. Like…not feeling like shit after.”

 

He knocked her shoulder with his, “It should _always_ feel this good. Even if I don’t come, or you don’t cause you’re not in the mood or whatever, nobody should be feeling bad about it.” She lolled her head to look over at him, so he did the same, dropping his cheek to his shoulder.

 

“Was it like that with Ygritte?”

 

Her question made him sigh. “Complicated, and ruining the afterglow. I’ll tell you later.” But she whined and knocked a foot into his.

 

“Noooo, tell me,” she pouted prettily, widening her eyes to Disney size. “Please?” She even had the nerve to bat her lashes at him. He caved. Because of course he caved.

 

“Oh my god, you are such a brat.” Sansa grinned and rolled to snuggle up against his arm, still watching him with exaggerated interest. “Seriously,” he huffed, “the worst brat.”

 

She pinched his arm, “Tell me!”

 

“ _Fine_.” He dragged a hand through his hair, sweat-laden and tangled from Sansa’s enthusiasm. “All right, no. Not in the end. At the beginning…well it was sorta like being strung out on heroin. Like, it’s smooth and hazy while you’re up, but the crash is brutal and you sort hate yourself for days after.”

 

“Should I be concerned about the drug metaphor?” she asked warily, lifting her head just slightly. He scowled.

 

“I’m a social worker. I read a _book_.”

 

“Ah. But still…”

 

“No, Sansa, I’ve never done heroin.”

 

“I wasn’t judging, I was just…asking.”

 

He snorted. “ _Anyway._ Ygritte was a shitstorm I’d prefer to discuss some other time.”

 

“Some other time…like this?” she prompted hopefully, biting her bottom lip. Jon's eyebrow jumped and he looked down at her with a smile.

 

“Do you… _want_ other times like this?” She pulled her lips in and nodded, keeping her eyes on his. “Sounds good to me. One condition, though,” he said feigning gravity. She almost looked worried. “We don’t tell Robb for like, a month.”

 

She snorted, “Hell no. Two. _At least_.”

 

“Deal,” he held out a hand to her which she shook firmly once before she used it to pull him on top of her. Jon, chuckling, obliged for all of a second and kissed her long and slow and deep. Then he worked a hand to the small of her back and rolled them so she was on top. He was ready for round two and wanted to try out those _ideas_ he’d had earlier.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb finds out.

 

“Brothers, sister, we are gathered here today because we have been betrayed…”

 

“You told me there was going to be a fight. I would not fight any of the people in this room on principle. You’re a rotten liar, Robb Stark.”

 

“Trust me, Arya, when you hear what I have to say, you’re gonna want to fight.”

 

“I want to fight _now_.”

 

“Seriously, what the hell are we all doing here? This place is a hovel—”

 

“Do _I_ have to be here for this?”

 

“If _I_ have to be here, so do you. At least you chose this mess…”

 

Robb squawked indignantly, ignoring his sister’s barrage of insults, “You’re my wife!”

 

“Is that a yes? Or—?”

 

Robb flailed his arms, “Wives are supposed to back up their husbands!”

 

Jeyne stood up from her seat, “Wives are supposed to keep their husbands from doing dumb shit. And as your wife, I told you this was the dumbest idea you’ve ever had. I would know because I remember that time you four tried to pole vault into the pool.”

 

“To be fair, that was amazing—”

 

“Shut up, Theon.”

 

“Right.”

 

“This is absolutely idiotic.”

 

“Thank you, Jeyne.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

Robb, ignoring his wife, made a dramatic circle around the room and then flung an accusing finger at Jon and Sansa, seated together on the sofa. Sansa was scowling, her arms crossed over her chest and Jon looked vaguely like he was going to vomit.

 

“ _These_ two,” Robb announced gravely, “have been sleeping together!”

 

There was a long, drawn out, silent pause before it erupted into chaos.

 

“That’s _it_? _That’s_ what you called us here for?”

 

“Okay, I’m not a Stark and I’m not dating one. What the fuck am I doing here?”

 

“Robb, you said this was an _emergency_!” Sam complained. “You do know that Gilly is eight months pregnant, right?”

 

“I already knew that,” Bran and Rickon said dully at the same time. The usually squabbling duo looked at one another, impressed.

 

“A month,” Rickon offered with a shrug.

 

“Huh, month and half. Good on you, little brother,” Bran offered from his wheelchair. They fist bumped and turned back to Robb with bland attentiveness.

 

Theon snorted, “Amateurs. I knew after a week. Look at that stupid smiley face of hers! I know a well bedded broad when I see one. How ‘bout you Sammy?”

 

“Day after.” They all gaped at him even as Jon groaned miserably. “What? They came to get Ghost together and Jon’s not exactly…subtle, all right?” Robb looked like his brain had just short circuited. But then some thought shocked his system back into angry-mode. His accusing finger swung to each of them in turn.

 

“What do you mean _that’s it?_ And what do you mean you all knew? Why didn’t any of you tell anybody?” He moved on to gesticulating wildly. Arya rolled her eyes and didn’t bother dignifying his question with a response.

 

“Robb, you’re giving your best friend ulcers! Or—a heart attack, I really can’t tell…”

 

“Well first of all,” Bran interrupted to answer Robb’s question, “It’s none of our business. And especially not _yours_ ,” He made sure to emphasize that last part with a knowing look to Sansa. She mouthed a “thank you” at him, even as she rubbed Jon’s back soothingly. The poor guy had his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. He was muttering _This is it, this is hell. What did I do to deserve this?_

 

“Really don’t care,” Theon added as his paltry explanation, watching Jon’s anxiety meltdown with a mixture of wariness and skepticism.

 

“Sworn to secrecy,” Sam said.

 

Rickon shrugged again, “It just wasn’t that interesting.”

 

Robb threw his arms around in frustration, “That’s _not_ the point!”

 

“Why am I _here_?” Theon demanded again, noisily.

 

“Well, what is the fucking point, Robert? Some of us have lives we’d like to be living.”

 

“Hey, how did Gendry do on that presentation?”

 

“Really good,” Arya answered her sister quietly, turning to look down at her with her arms folded, “That doctor you recommended was _so_ great—”

 

“Guys, can we focus please?! Sansa, our sister who we love, is dating one of our own—”

 

“Shit, I’m gonna be sick,” Jon moaned out miserably. Sansa angled herself toward him better, moving her hand up to rub and pinch lightly at his neck. He sat up and jabbed a finger at Robb. “I am not related to you! Quit saying that!” He dropped his head to Sansa’s shoulder mumbled something which made her go beet red, but she otherwise didn’t comment.

 

“Is this really necessary?” Bran asked reasonably, and Rickon was nodding in agreement with him.

 

“Of course it is! We have to talk about this!”

 

“Can I go?” Rickon followed up airily, “This literally does not affect my life. At all. Even a little. I literally have no fucks to give about this whole…situation.”

 

Bran whacked him lightly on the stomach, “Other than being happy for Jon and Sansa.”

 

Rickon snapped, “Right. What he said.”

 

“It definitely does not constitute a text saying _911_ ,” Sam agreed.

 

“Is no one else upset about this?” Robb demanded hysterically. Everyone else was looking around and shaking their heads in agreement. _Nope, no, not really_.

 

“Can I go _now_?”

 

“Robb, Robbie, Robert,” Arya said patronizingly as she moved from her perch on the couch’s armrest to clap a hand on his shoulder. “You’re my brother, arguably my favorite brother, since, as previously stated, Jon is not _actually_ related to us.” There was only minor protesting from Bran, but Rickon shrugged as if that was expected. “So when I tell you you’re being a stupid fuck, it’s out of love.” She curved around, using her free hand for emphasis, “You do realize that the only reason you’re upset is because little Sansy-pants—”

 

“I adamantly protest the use of that name, by the way.”

 

“Little Sansaparilla,” _Really?_ “Has stolen your best friend, your partner in crime, your sidekick, your bosom buddy old pal. And you’re being a jealous motherfucker.”

 

“ _Arya—_ ”

 

“Sorry, Sans. The point is, big brother,” she slapped him soundly on the back, so that he lurched forward slightly, “Grow the fuck up.” Then she clapped her hands together and went to murmur something softly to her sister, smacked a kiss on her head, ruffled Jon’s hair, and then threw up a peace sign as she walked to the door. “Duces, bitches, Gendry’s making me dinner. I will see you for breakfast on Sunday at the parentals’.” She turned, dropping her sunglasses over her eyes. “Practice safe sex, kids!”

 

Rickon was out the door on her heels, “Can I eat at yours?”

 

“Only if you bring beer.”

 

“My birthday is in _two weeks_!” they heard him whine.

 

“Well it sucks being an infant, doesn’t it?”

 

“But _Ar-ya_!”

 

“Make good choices!” Theon shouted after them. Sam kicked out, making Theon flinch defensively in his indignant confusion.

 

“On that note, I need to text Gilly and make a grocery run,” Sam said and turned to Theon. “You need a ride?” 

 

Theon slapped the arms of his chair and jumped to his feet, “Please and thanks.” He swung a foot at Jon’s as way of goodbye, clapped Bran’s hand in passing, and bent dramatically over Sansa’s, kissing the back of it. “Lovely as always, Sansy, my dear.” He swung around to face Robb and Jeyne. “Missus, you’re a gorgeous, patient angel sent from Saint Heaven, I don’t know how you do it. Robert,” He slung his sunglasses onto his face and jabbed a finger at him. “Next time you have a thematic meltdown of disastrous proportions? Don’t call me. Greyjoy, out!” And with that, he too was out the door. Sam’s exit was less dramatic and much quieter; he smiled and waved, and bellowed at Theon not to slam the car door.

 

“So…this was really fun, guys,” Bran said facetiously. “Who wants to help me to the car?” Jeyne volunteered. Jon’s building was shit and basically Bran needed a spotter while he navigated the front steps. He wheeled over to Sansa to give her hug and fist bump Jon. He spared and eye roll for Robb, not at all amused by the toxic immaturity levels in the room.

 

Robb watched them all leave, completely gob smacked. Apparently, he’d been expecting everyone to back him up on this.

 

“I can’t believe it…”

 

“Robb—”

 

He turned to them, looking genuinely hurt, “How come they all got to know and not me?”

 

Jon’s expression was absolutely wretched, like a kicked puppy, like a kid sitting alone at lunch, like someone just told him Santa wasn’t real. Sansa’s heart clenched watching the pair of them stare haplessly at each other.

 

“Do Mom and Dad know?”

 

Jon said “No,” at the same time Sansa said, “Mom does.” Jon clicked his tongue, looking betrayed, but Sansa shrugged innocently.

 

“I swear, she was some kind of lie-detecting bloodhound in a past life.” Jon narrowed his eyes at her. “I didn’t say anything, she just guessed! I swear on Lady’s life!”

 

“So everybody but me knew?!” Robb demanded, hands on his hips. They completely ignored the fact that their father obviously didn’t know. But that was mostly because Ned Stark was the last to know anything and he pretty much preferred it that way.

 

“It’s not like we _told_ them—” Jon started weakly.

 

“But you should’ve told me!”

 

“Okay, Robb?”

 

“Sansa, you don’t have to—”

 

“Yes, I do.” She turned Jon and squeezed his hand. “Yes, I do.” He sighed, looking away from her, which she took as acceptance, even if it was actually resignation. So she turned back to her brother, hands in her lap.

 

“I know the past few years have been…difficult.”

 

“An understatement. A serious understatement.”

 

She scolded him with a glance and he had the decency to look chagrined. So she took a breath and continued, “I know I haven’t made things easy on all of you, and that you have every right to be concerned, but…” She trailed off as her stomach churned. She tried to redirect the negative thoughts like her therapist had taught her. It was a lot easier when Jon took her hand again, pulling it over into his lap to play with it. “But I just didn’t want the pressure. Not just from you, from the whole family. I didn’t want you to think—” She looked over at Jon guiltily, but he nodded in encouragement. “I didn’t want you to think Jon was taking advantage or that I was using him to get over Harry or any of the thousand other things you would have immediately assumed. Which you did, proving my point.”

 

“But if you’re _not_ then why didn’t you just tell me?”

 

“Man,” Jon said ruefully, “It all happened really fast, we were just trying to figure it out first. You didn’t bring Jeyne around until month five, if I remember correctly.”  

 

“Totally different situation.”

 

“ _Exactly_ ,” Jon shot back in exasperation. “We’ve all known Jeyne since high school and you were still too nervous to have her hanging around us. Your mom used to change my diapers, so how is this not going to be a weird transition?”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“No, fuck you.”

 

They glared at each other angrily until, slowly, very slowly, a grin start to break out on Robb’s face. Jon responded, in kind, shoulders shaking from holding in laughter. Then they were both erupting in guffaws, barely keeping it together. By the time Jeyne came back in the house, they were hugging and holding each other up, still giggling like idiots. Jeyne looked between the pair and Sansa who was leaning back into the couch with a hand over her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. She spread out her arms, demanding explanations.

 

“What the hell did I miss?”

 

“Jeyne!” Robb laughed excitedly, “My best friend and my _sister_!” As if that were the best explanation in the world. He hugged Jon from the side again, jostling him playfully, beaming like he’d placed for gold at the Olympics. Bewildered, Jeyne looked back to her sister-in-law, so many questions on her face. Sansa sighed, feeling very put upon and tired.

 

“Men are idiots,” she explained tersely.

 

“Right.”

 

“Can you get your husband out of my house so I can make my boyfriend forget that he accused us of having an incestuous fling?”

 

“Immediately,” Jeyne promised, moving swiftly to grab Robb’s arm and tug him to the door.

 

“ _Your_ house?” Robb asked, brow deeply furrowed. “You _live_ with him?” Jon rounded on her too, amusement gone, completely stunned. Sansa rolled her eyes.

 

“Not officially, but he’s going to ask and I’m going to say yes, and then I’m harassing the landlord until he builds a ramp for Bran…What?” she followed up primly in answer to Jon’s bafflement. “You really _aren’t_ subtle. Like, at all.”

 

“You don’t think it’s too soon?”

 

“Oh-kay, we’re not needed for this. Come on, Robb. See you two on Sunday.”

Sansa was already out her seat and continuing without acknowledging their exit. She wrapped her arms around her middle and shrugged.

 

“Well, yeah, it’s soon, kind of like everything else with us has been. Why put the brakes on a good thing?”

 

“Because you did that with Joffrey, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

 

“How many times do I have to ask you not to do that? I can’t make a decision if I don’t know what you’re thinking. You don’t have to protect me all the time.”

 

“I know, but—!”

 

“But _nothing!_ You were obviously feeling it too if you were thinking of asking me. Did you really think you could guilt me into saying yes or that I would say yes even if I didn’t want to?”

 

“It’s not like you’ve got the best track record.”

 

That smarted. Regardless, she took a step forward, “But I do with _you_.” He scoffed, shaking his head and looking away from her, but he couldn’t argue that point. Even if he didn’t constantly check himself and pester her about her wants or opinions, Sansa had never behaved otherwise with Jon in her life. He was basically family, and she already knew he respected her and cared about her, so she didn’t feel like she was constantly on defense, on high alert to avoid upsetting or offending him. Offending Jon was the norm, and they both knew where each other’s lines were. It was just…different. With a grin, she wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning into him.

 

“I’m here all the time anyway. Lady’s got a bed and bowls here. And besides,” she pressed a kiss to his chin, “I already cleared out half of your closet.” He whipped his head to stare at her dubiously.

 

“What? No you didn’t…When?”

 

She made a _duh_ face, “Last week.”

 

He frowned, “ _What_? How did I not notice that..?” Sansa could only shrug. “Huh,” he hummed. Then he tipped his head in a shrug and swiftly bent to throw her over his shoulder, making her giggle shrilly, kicking her feet out.

 

“Where are we going?” she laughed breathlessly, squirming to get her stomach off the swell of his shoulder.

 

“To see the closet,” he answered mildly, reaching over to tickle the back of her knee. She shrieked, making the dogs bark loudly from where they were lounging in the mud room. He dropped her unceremoniously on the bed, letting her bounce once before he climbed on top of her, and met her halfway in her upward lean to kiss him. She hummed happily against his mouth.

 

“I think you’re confused,” she murmured around his kisses, “This is called a bed.” He kissed a trail back to her ear and down to her pulse point, his hand kneading the give of her thigh while the other braced him over her. “This is where people sleep,” she continued glibly, shuddering when he hit just the right spot. “A closet is a little room that stores clothes?”

 

“Whoops,” he whispered in her ear before biting the lobe, “My mistake.”

 

Sansa chuckled, wrapping her legs around him, “Best mistake you’ve made all day.”

 

 

 


End file.
